


Speak, hands, for me!

by grelleswife



Series: Kuroshitsuji Ladies Appreciation Week 2020 [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espionage, Face Punching, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: "Ran Mao didn’t put much stock in words. "Sometimes, the easiest way to finish an undercover assignment is to punch a lecher.
Series: Kuroshitsuji Ladies Appreciation Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758298
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	Speak, hands, for me!

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Casca's famous line in Act III, scene i of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.
> 
> Although I hope I made this clear enough in the fic, Ran Mao flirts with Baron Chris, but there's no sex! I'm not going to put her through that.
> 
> Upset that Yana didn't give Ran Mao the chance to deck Baron Chris in canon? This story is for you.

Ran Mao didn’t put much stock in words. They rang out with the sweet meaninglessness of windchimes swaying in the breeze, pointless noise that camouflaged the speaker’s true intentions. They were treacherous and slippery. Grabbing hold of them was like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands. That was why Ran Mao ignored the prattle; the body’s language spoke with far greater eloquence and candor. She’d had to learn that lesson quickly to survive in the Qing Bang. People’s tongues would spill forth pleasantries like reams of silk, but the glint of malice in their eyes or the hands stealthily reaching for a knife told the real story. Of course, assassins like herself were expected to be more silent than shadows. Weapons didn’t talk back to their masters. Ran Mao had been a quiet child from the start, and she grew up taciturn and stonefaced. Her large, tawny eyes blinked back at the world with mute placidity, but she lay in wait and _watched_ , a cat stalking its prey with relentless patience.

This manor wasn’t right. The other maids carried on with the same cheerful unawareness as rabbits nibbling at the grass while a hawk swooped down upon them, but Ran Mao heard the swish of its wings. She gave no sign of it, but her assassin’s intuition pricked at her skin.

_Danger_ , it whispered.

If you’d been killing for long enough, it left its mark, and you recognized signs of the profession in others, too. The blonde maid named Jane might be trouble. She spoke pleasantly enough, but the sharp glances she threw at Mey Rin and Ran Mao, and the way her body tensed slightly when Mey Rin exposed the scars on her arms, didn’t bode well. Jane walked too quietly and stayed too alert, eyes bright with suspicion. A tigress masquerading as a housecat. Ran Mao watched her closely, but she wasn’t afraid. She’d taken down older, more experienced adversaries in the past; she would do so again, if need be.

As for Baron Chris Heathfield, he was a lumbering bear, shaggy and unsightly. Why the squeals of excitement at the “handsome” noble’s arrival? Then again, men had never interested her _that_ way. Her only response to their touch or the romantic nonsense that dripped from their tongues like honey from the comb was pure indifference.

Ran Mao cringed at his ugly hands. She knew the ravenous, searching look he gave them as he wetted those bulbous lips with the tip of his tongue. Clients at Lau’s opium den looked at her and the other women the same way. Like cutlets of meat at the butcher’s.

“Lecher,” she muttered quietly to herself when the maids dispersed to begin their chores.

* * *

She’d known the slip of paper was coming as soon his eyes fell on her. The eager way his pupils dilated, gaping dark holes of greed…she’d seen it often, and knew what it meant. Still, better to have the business done as quickly as possible. She didn’t much care for this place. She’d rather stalk the darkness with her “brother” among smoke and secrets.

Poor Mey Rin was in a tizzy that night. Her hands fluttered like agitated little sparrows, and she babbled in a steady stream of reminders and instructions. Ran Mao was unperturbed. Mey was a kind soul, but she needn’t worry. The assassin had a job to do. She’d get it done, even if that meant swinging a few punches.

She donned her cheongsam and crept toward the baron’s room, knocking lightly at his door.

His words of welcome were trite and predictable, spoken in the dull, ugly English that plodded along where Mandarin swooped and sang. Ran Mao let them wash over her and focused instead on the hunger that stretched his skin taut over his cheekbones, and the rough desperation with which he grabbed her wrist.

She played the docile doll, blinking up at him with a deceptively vacant expression. The greeting she offered was soft and velvety as a cat’s paws. She’d keep her claws hidden until it was time to pounce.

He started with the sweet talk, and Ran Mao was all ears, seemingly coquettish and eager to please. As if! For someone who burned through the ranks of his maids like a fire leaping from house to house, the baron lacked finesse. Amidst the usual drivel about her beauty, she had the disconcerting impression that he was testing her, looking for something. But what?

Coolly, dispassionately, she tried to coax the information out from him, though she was coy and flirtatious on the surface. He rambled, making less and less sense. There was a lot of talk about “the shape of the soul” and other such stuff. However, Ran Mao dutifully committed his words to memory and tucked them away for later. The gloomy little earl was involved in many strange dealings; this twaddle about souls might make more sense to him.

The lust still gleamed in his eyes, and his words were soft, but his mouth twitched in sour disappointment. Hmm. She’d already been found lacking. Not that Ran Mao cared. She should be wary, though. Dissatisfaction made men cruel.

Her instincts proved her right when he reached into his drawer and pulled out a silver flask. Ran Mao caught a glimpse of papers stacked inside before he shut it again. He really thought she’d be stupid enough to take a drink from a man she barely knew?

“Let us drink together, my dear—ah, what was your name agai—”

Ran Mao didn’t bother with niceties. Her fist did all the talking, smashing into the man’s chin.

An “Unfff!” of surprise, and the baron’s eyes rolled back in his head before he collapsed with an undignified thud on the mattress. For a moment, Ran Mao gazed down at him in contempt.

“Idiot.”

Without further ado, she ripped the bedsheets to form makeshift bonds for his arms and legs, plus a gag for good measure. She didn’t have much time, so she’d need to move fast.

Ran Mao ransacked the room for clues, but the most important things she could find were those papers in the drawer from earlier. She took a minute to flip through them. Files on past maids, and a great deal about blood. Looked like a nasty business.

She didn’t bother to say goodbye to the baron as he lay tied up on the bed, still unconscious, though she absentmindedly stuffed the papers in her bosom for safekeeping. Ran Mao returned to her and Mey Rin’s room far more cautiously than she’d left it. Since she’d escaped the grim ending hinted at in the papers, someone like Jane might try to finish her off.

Mey was wide awake when she entered, arms clasped around her knees and brow darkened by worry.

“Need to leave. Now,” Ran Mao told her simply in Mandarin.

Mey blanched. “Ran…”

“Got some clues.” Ran Mao quickly pulled out the papers, showed them to Mey, and then slipped them back beneath her cheongsam.

“…you punched him, you did,” Mey sighed and shook her head.

The stoic assassin permitted herself a faint smile.

“Punched him real good.”

They slipped away under cover of darkness, making their escape on foot and heading for the train station. As they huddled together in a late-night boxcar, Ran Mao let out a contented sigh.

Mey Rin took her bruised hand in hers.

“You all roight, Ran?”

Ran Mao nodded calmly. Her fist had said everything that needed to be said, and they’d gotten out alive. She rested in the gentle silence.


End file.
